


Living Many Secret Lives Among You

by stew (julie)



Series: Buckaroo and the Kurgan [1]
Category: Highlander (Movies), The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across The 8th Dimension (1984)
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1988-07-16
Updated: 1988-07-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:13:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22205398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/stew
Summary: There has been a lethal sword-fight – of all things! – at Madison Square Garden, so the Hong Kong Cavaliers must postpone their gig. While Reno deals with an impromptu gathering of press, Buckaroo senses the presence of a long-dead but still beloved friend… He goes to investigate alone – and is shocked by who he finds.
Relationships: Buckaroo Banzai/Rawhide
Series: Buckaroo and the Kurgan [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602835
Kudos: 4





	Living Many Secret Lives Among You

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** Sorry, I couldn’t help it! After seeing a late show of _Highlander_ at Electric Shadows, the idea occurred to me and then it simply wouldn’t leave me alone. All the parallels grew on me… Fellow Rawhide fans, forgive me if you will.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Clancy Brown’s acting skills are evident in him playing both the best of men and the worst of men… This story attempts to combine the two characters into one. 
> 
> **First published:** in my zine “Samurai Errant: Cavalier Tales Quixotic and Profane” #1 on 16 July 1988

# Living Many Secret Lives Among You 

♦

“You’re a swordsman, Dr. Banzai. What do you think of these murders?” 

“I think that if the killer has a blade as fine as the Toledo, they’re a very lucky person.” The press laughed, and Buckaroo turned to leave with the other Cavaliers. 

“Management have kindly permitted us to play the Garden next Thursday instead.” Reno was fielding questions, attempting to wind up the impromptu press conference. “No doubt the police will have finished with the building by then.” 

“Will you be helping in their investigations, Dr. Banzai?” 

But Buckaroo was gazing around the Garden carpark, looking uneasy and distracted, and he hadn’t heard. “I’m sure the police don’t need any help in this case,” Reno answered, lying through his teeth – the police had gotten nowhere. “If you would be good enough to let people know their tickets will be valid for next week, thank you.” 

And the Cavaliers bustled into the waiting bus, carrying Buckaroo along with them. But even inside his eyes followed the crowd slowly starting to head for the exits. “Don’t drive off,” he said, not hearing the queries of his friends. “I have to go somewhere. I have to go alone.”

“Why, Buckaroo? What is it?” Perfect Tommy was insisting.

Buckaroo seemed too distracted to pay heed. “None of you must follow me. I _have_ to do this alone. Will you promise me that?” 

“Have you got your Go-Phone?” Reno asked. “Please don’t lose it this time.” 

“Yes – I’ll call you later. But you mustn’t come for me until I call. Go back to the apartment, OK?” 

While no one was happy, especially with Buckaroo in his present state of mind, they all still worked on the assumption that he always knew what he was doing. Everyone grudgingly agreed – and Buckaroo stepped out of the bus, started walking quickly towards the exit where most of the crowd of press and public had disappeared. The shock was still crawling up and down his spine, almost like the electrical charge had done when the Adders had ionized him. It couldn’t be true, he couldn’t be sane if it were true, but all he could do was follow the figure he’d seen and try to work this thing out. 

As he reached street level, he saw the figure a block away, ambling along the sidewalk. Buckaroo turned to follow him, keeping his distance, and the figure sped up to Buckaroo’s normal walking pace. Buckaroo followed, mind blank, unable to even consider that what he’d seen had been true. 

There was a street corner, traffic lights. The figure, looming large over the rest of the waiting pedestrians, stood patiently. Buckaroo crept a little nearer, afraid to see the face, and afraid not to. Slowly the figure turned a little, as if listening to Buckaroo’s hesitant footsteps, and then he turned his face so Buckaroo could see his profile. Buckaroo’s heart stopped, then slammed into gear again, and a slow smile spread across the face he gazed at, as if he were smiling at Buckaroo’s monstrous reaction. 

Not waiting for the lights, the figure stalked off along the side road, confident that Buckaroo would follow him. After a long moment, Buckaroo ran to the corner, then followed the long, easy strides half a block away, no longer bothering to hide the fact that he was tailing the figure. 

His spine crept even more with the certainty of this revelation, his mind a jumble of conflicting emotions. And running through the base of his brain was a checklist: Rawhide’s face, Rawhide’s large, heavyset yet graceful figure, Rawhide’s stride, Rawhide’s presence. But different, so different. Rawhide had never worn all black and faded grey like that, Rawhide had never let his figure so overpower anyone but his enemies. Rawhide had never smiled so evilly, so knowingly. Yet this was him. At first he’d even walked exactly at Buckaroo’s normal pace, though now he’d stretched those legs so that Buckaroo fell into a jog occasionally to keep up. 

Buckaroo turned every now and then to check if any of the Cavaliers were following him, but they appeared not to be. He was glad – no one else deserved this heartbreak. No one else deserved to feel their love and caring and respect for this man bleed and ache and throb. It reminded Buckaroo of the time when three of Xan’s flunkeys had (despite his protestations) thrown him bodily into a briar patch, and it had been hours before he could clamber out, hours before there was anyone to help him pick out the thorns, and his whole body had burnt and hurt and bled. 

The figure that was Rawhide was leading him down smaller, grottier streets, past street walkers, dope dealers, with the sun going down in a cloud of smog, the street lights throwing his figure into stark relief then back to the anonymity of a shadow. He looked most like Rawhide in silhouette, just as he reached the next pool of light, his gait achingly familiar, his large friendly hands swinging. Then he’d step into the light and Buckaroo would see the long black ratty hair where it had been crisp chestnut curls, the pale complexion which had been tanned and rosy and full of health and life. 

Finally they reached a small, seedy hotel, and the figure swung in through the foyer. Buckaroo followed more by instinct than anything else once the figure left his line of sight. The man minding the hotel foyer was obviously overawed and frightened by his client – Buckaroo walked past to an even wider gape, free to do as he pleased. 

The banging of the door to the stairwell, then the door standing open on the third floor, Buckaroo following the scent of Rawhide’s presence. An anonymous door along the corridor, which somehow he knew was the room he wanted. He quietly let himself in, shutting the door behind his back, gazing across at the silent silhouette. 

The figure stood large before the grey bay windows, feet solidly apart, hands resting before him on a large, evil sword, face hidden in shadow. Waiting. Waiting, maybe for the end of time. 

There was a small lamp on a table close to the door, throwing back the grey cobwebbed shadows around a sofa, some chairs. The light glinted faintly on the sword, but was absorbed by the blackness of the figure who was –

“Rawhide.” Buckaroo’s voice cracked as he leant back against the door, waves of grief and anger suddenly crashing over him. If he had been numb and distracted as he’d followed the figure, then his emotions returned now to swamp him. Even saying the name hurt him. 

“I am not Rawhide,” came the steady reply. And, despite the words, despite the gravelly expression, it was Rawhide’s low rumble of a voice. 

At this final proof, Buckaroo stepped forward a little so that he was fully illuminated. “Come into the light,” he said gently. “I want to see you.” 

“No.” The figure stood immovable.

“If you will not let me see you, why did you let me know you, why did you let me follow you?” 

There was silence for a while, before he finally said, “To tell you who I am.”

“Come into the light, Rawhide.” 

He did not move. “I am the Kurgan. I am an immortal. I was born three thousand years ago in the Steppes of Russia.” 

Buckaroo walked a little closer, out of the warm circle of light, into the shadow.

“I cannot die, except by decapitation. I came to New York for the gathering.” 

“It was you who killed the man at Madison Square Garden.” 

“No, it was another. But I killed the one in New Jersey. I have two more to kill. Then I will be the only immortal left, and I will win the prize!” 

“What prize?” 

“I do not yet know what it is.” 

Buckaroo walked even closer, so that he was only inches away from the man he had loved so well. “Rawhide –” 

“I am not Rawhide.” 

“You are! At least, Rawhide must still be a part of you. He is the most quiet and gentle, the most caring and loving person I have ever known.” 

“He was a part I played, to hide out near New York, waiting for the gathering. You do not know me. I am evil. More evil than a Lectroid for they know no other way, but I have chosen this way.” 

“There is good in you. For ten years you lived as all that is good and true in a man. For _ten years_. How can you deny that was you?” 

“Those ten years were more than a quarter of your life. You perceive that as a long time. Those ten years were less than one three-hundredth of my life. It meant nothing to me. Sometimes it amused me. That is all.” 

“How can you say that? He and I _loved_ each other.” 

“You loved a phantom.” 

“Oh Christ!” Buckaroo turned away, walked a few steps towards the window so that he was behind the imposing, uncaring figure. Barely knowing it, he was crying, crying quietly and hopelessly, like his heart was broken. “How could you do this to me? The two people I loved best in the world – Peggy, my wife, Rawhide, my friend. I lose them both, but they are not dead. They leave their graves to haunt me.” 

The Kurgan was silent. Blackly implacable. 

“You said, as you lay dying in my arms… You said you’d be with Peggy again. You said I’d be jealous.” Buckaroo walked around to face him, gazing up at him with tear-streaked cheeks. _“Was it true?”_

As calmly and uncaring as ever, the Kurgan looked down at Buckaroo’s sad, maddened face. “Would you ask the same question of her? If you had seen her again, would you have asked her about _me_?”

“How could you do that to me?” Buckaroo muttered, backing away. He had tried not to let it affect him, but the strain, the madness had been building in him. The full horror of that moment at the labs, an echo of the awful moment when they’d exhumed Peggy’s grave to find it empty, burst in on him. “We saved the world, we lost seventeen residents and interns. We got back to the Institute, and Reno and Tommy and I walked over at dawn to find you. We had left you where you lay in the corridor below the stairs, but you were gone. The building was empty. You had died in my arms, saying my name…” 

Buckaroo had backed away to the door, weeping helplessly. The Kurgan stood gazing at him, a statue of indifference. 

“I am going mad,’ Buckaroo whispered. “You loved me once; you still love me. How could you do this to me, after Peggy?” 

“If I told you where she was, what would you do? Married to them both, a bigamist. Wouldn’t that be fun to sort out?” 

“She’s _alive_?” Buckaroo hissed. 

“ _I’m_ alive,” came the inexorable reply. “I see which matters more to you.” 

“Rawhide, please, I love you both. You must tell me.” 

“And what would you do with Penny Banzai then? Have you read your Satre? He had it right: hell is other people.” 

“Don’t – Just tell me, Rawhide.” 

“I am not Rawhide – I am the Kurgan. And I do not know if Peggy is alive or dead. It remains a mystery to me.” 

Buckaroo seemed shrunken, defeated. After a long while he said, “If Rawhide was a part of you, you would not have brought me here, you would not have spoken to me. Rawhide was not so cruel.” 

“When I am the only one,” the Kurgan announced, “I will be the most powerful person alive. Surpassing Xan. Surpassing you. I wanted to warn you. I wanted to tell you – there is no hope.” 

“And what will you do?” 

“I will kill you, Buckaroo Banzai.” 

“Then I will fight you. I will challenge you. We were ever a match for each other with swords.” 

“Ah, but it will be so easy for me to kill you. Only one particular wound can kill me – any other does not affect me. You would have no chance.” 

“If you will be so powerful, why bother to kill me?” 

The Kurgan was silent. Then he whispered, “It would give me pleasure.” 

A silence grew in the room, strangely accepting, even comforting. It seemed to matter to each man that some version of the truth had now been found between them. Long moments of peace passed. 

Buckaroo gazed keenly at the sword held in the Kurgan’s hands, a sword that he had never seen before. “Rawhide –” he faltered. “Rawhide, do you remember when we practiced together? When we did our sword dance?” 

“Yes,” came the whispered answer. 

“I… I don’t have my sword with me.” 

In the darkness, the Kurgan moved to an ancient chest and knelt before it. Opening it, he drew out a samurai sword, gazing at it fiercely. “Take this one.” 

“But, Rawhide!” Buckaroo gasped as he made out in the faint light just how precious and beautiful a weapon it was. 

“It is yours. I couldn’t give it to you before.” And the low rumble had lost its edge, was more like Rawhide’s gentle voice of old. “Now…” 

And with the ease of long habit, Buckaroo fell into place beside him, stood meditating with him before they began the slow, muscle-stretching dance that was exercise and contemplation, that was lethal and peaceful. As always, Buckaroo’s mind slowly, slowly lost the chaos, becoming one with the sword, his body limber and beautiful, his mind finally calm and at rest. The figure in the darkness beside him matched his every move perfectly, as he had done a hundred times before. The bond between them grew, as ever a part of the peace and beauty and love. 

They came to rest kneeling, bowing over their swords. For a moment the chaos threatened Buckaroo again, but then he knew what he was expected to do. Slowly he sat back on his heels. Before him, the Kurgan knelt motionless, head bowed. Waiting.

Buckaroo re-gripped his sword, raised it above his head, in the faint light seeing the Kurgan’s neck bare, his long black hair fallen forward over his face. Buckaroo’s breath labored in the stillness.

“No!” he cried, dropping the sword, hearing it clatter off to one side, out of reach. The Kurgan slowly sat up, then stood in front of him, holding onto his own sword with a strong grip. Buckaroo could only gaze at the evil hilt, unable to look up, unable to think or move. Through his mind ran the words, “So be it. So be it. There are worse fates than to die at his hand.” 

But then the Kurgan cried out, too, throwing his sword heavily to lie with Buckaroo’s, and kneeling before Buckaroo again. They gazed at each other wildly for a long long moment. And the Kurgan pulled Buckaroo greedily, needily into his arms. 

They held to each other tightly, each fitfully trying to get closer, to crush the other into himself, as if they were two parts of one whole which only needed the right touch to fit together again. 

“I loved you. I love you, Rawhide.” He sounded insistent. Delirious. 

“God in heaven, I love you, too.” He sounded tortured. “I have never loved before. I hate it.” 

“No, no,” Buckaroo murmured, pressing his face miserably into the Kurgan’s shoulder. “Don’t say that.” 

The Kurgan cupped Buckaroo’s head in one large hand, stroking his hair roughly, tenderly, urgently. Buckaroo looked up at him. And slowly the Kurgan lowered his mouth to Buckaroo’s, and kissed him gently. Paused for breath, and kissed him hungrily. 

Buckaroo clutched to his friend’s body, unable to return the kiss, unable to push him away, unable to control the frightening clamor of his heart. Desperately realizing that he wanted the closeness, the strength, the trust of Rawhide making love to him. 

The Kurgan raised his head, breaking the kiss, but still holding the smaller man to him with a strength that might have crushed anyone else. “I have wanted you,” he murmured, “for ten years, Buckaroo Banzai.” 

“One three-hundredth of your life.” 

The Kurgan moaned, letting his head fall back. “You have been _all_ my life.” Gazing down again, he seemed suddenly tender, all Rawhide despite everything. “Let me have you.”

“I’ve never…”

“I know. You never loved a man. You never realized how I wanted you. But you trust me, do you not?”

“Yes.” 

“And you want me?” 

“Yes.” 

The Kurgan paused reflectively. “There will never be another time. If they kill me –”

“You said _you’d_ win.” 

“The Highlander is strong. And if I win, I will be your enemy.” 

“But the prize – you must win the prize.” 

The Kurgan looked down on Buckaroo’s loving, desperate face. “If I die,” he murmured, “I know that you have loved me.” 

Tears were running down Buckaroo’s cheeks. “I can’t lose you again. I couldn’t stand it.” 

“You have others who love you. You always will have.” 

“I’m going insane.” But he didn’t feel that so strongly as before he and Rawhide had moved side by side again in their samurai dance, before the Kurgan had held him and kissed him and loved him. 

“Be still. Let it flow away from you. Let your mind and soul fill with peace. Let your anger and hurt go.” The Kurgan held him close, cradling him like a babe, pressing gentle kisses into his hair, rocking him. “When you miss me, when you’re alone, perform the sword dance and I’ll always be there with you, I’ll always be by your side. You have grieved enough, my lover. You have a wife and friends who love you. Go back to them.” 

“Why did you come to me today?” Buckaroo asked. 

“For this, for love. I did not know it. I could not stay away. And for death, if you would give it me.” 

“No!” Buckaroo clung to him, near tears yet again. 

“Be still, my love.” The Kurgan stood, lifting Buckaroo in his arms, and walked over to the bed. “Let me have you.” He lay beside him, drawing him close. “Let yourself love me, this one last time.” 

The Kurgan moved over him, masculine, dominating, but gentle and loving, finally taking him, enfolding him in his strong embrace. Buckaroo lay quiet, moaning under the Kurgan’s exquisite, knowing touch. Gently, insistently, the Kurgan loved him again and again, bringing Buckaroo to beautiful, overpowering orgasm, those luminous green eyes gazing at him wonderingly as he climaxed himself.

Still shuddering, Buckaroo at last lay spent in his sated arms. “You must have been practicing,” Buckaroo whispered, “these last three thousand years.” 

“It must be because I love you, because I know you.” 

“You can’t leave me now. I can’t leave you, I can’t go back to the Institute. You have to tell me about your life. We have to be together. It’s just the two of us now.” 

The Kurgan was silent beside him, silent and large and protective. Buckaroo felt he could lose himself for ever in that massive embrace. “You will hear of me,” the Kurgan said in Rawhide’s gentle voice. “You will hear of me in the papers. I must kill a good man. I will wreak havoc on the city and its people. You will loathe me for what I do. The Highlander must loathe me, too, or he will not fight me.” 

“But he is not stronger than you.” 

“Maybe not. He is vulnerable, and I know it. But Ramirez taught him well, indeed. He could kill me if he hated me coldly enough.” 

“Don’t let him hate you, then.” 

“I met him four hundred years ago. I killed his friend and raped his friend’s woman, but he still did not hate me enough to come after me.” 

“Dear God, Rawhide…” 

The Kurgan leant over him, letting Buckaroo see his face. “Do not call me that. I am not Rawhide. Your Rawhide could not have done such a thing.” 

“If you are so unlike Rawhide, how could you have lived with us for so long? You must have despised us. Why stay with me?” 

The Kurgan laughed a little, a rumble deep in his throat. “I liked your style. You would be surprised at how few people I have met in three thousand years who have even come close to your abilities. Besides, I like fighting – what was I to do? Throw petrol bombs in Beirut or Belfast? I was tired of the jungles and the deserts. I preferred your old-fashioned, straight-forward ways.” 

“When you smile like that, I know you have become Rawhide. You have changed from what you were. You should see the peace in your eyes!” 

“I am _not_ your Rawhide,” the Kurgan insisted. “See what I do now in New York City, and loathe me for what I am. Even now, you do not know what I am. You will not let yourself see me. Open your eyes, Buckaroo Banzai. You have embraced evil.”

“I have embraced what is good in you.”

“The carrion crows ate out the good in me long eons ago.” 

“Yet you loved me all these years. There is good in you. Rawhide is still a part of you.” 

“If the Highlander knows I am so vulnerable, if he knows I love, then he will kill me.” 

“I won’t stop loving you.” 

“Even if it means my death.” 

“If my love does not make you stronger, then maybe that is what must be, Rawhide.” 

The Kurgan cried out, a cry full of hurt and love and pain. “You should have killed me when I would have let you. I wish you had killed me then, and I would never have known your cruelty.” 

“And I would have gone mad.” 

“So.” The Kurgan gazed sightlessly past him. “So, I save you and lose myself. That is my prize after so many many years. I will not see you again – if I did it would be your death. I will not see you again unless you fight me.” 

“I made my decision earlier this evening. I will not fight you.” 

“You will want to. If I win the prize, you will bitterly regret it.” 

“Then I will trust in the Highlander’s strength, and in your love for me.” 

“You send me to my death.” 

“Rawhide, if there was any way else… You leave me no other way!” 

“You will not be sad for me tomorrow when you know what I have done. You will loathe me and there will be an end to it all.” 

“Stay with me. Let me sleep in your arms tonight.” 

“You must promise me to stay away until this is over. Swear to me that you will not try to see me again.” 

Buckaroo whispered the words, “So be it.” He was weeping again, and he wondered if these exposed nerves would ever heal. Though sated, they made simple love, holding and touching and kissing. Exhausted, Buckaroo fell asleep in the Kurgan’s arms. 

When he woke, he was alone.

♦


End file.
